


overload

by CT0922PrivateInk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Autism, Autistic Ushijima Wakatoshi, Crying, Exhaustion, Gen, Hyperventilating, No Dialogue, Whump, meltdowns, mild Self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CT0922PrivateInk/pseuds/CT0922PrivateInk
Summary: Wakatoshi just wants the day to be over with before it’s even begun.





	overload

**Author's Note:**

> vibe check! *projects my shit day onto ushijima*

Wakatoshi usually wakes up in an instant, inhaling sharply as he stands up to head to the bathroom to shower, using his basic brand of shampoo and conditioner. That is then followed by dressing himself in his school uniform and cleaning up his morning teenager stink with toothpaste, mouthwash, and deodorant before he heads to class. It’s all a routine, one he’s been following since he started middle school. It hasn’t changed in six years, and he hadn’t been planning on doing so for the next three at the very least.

But not today.

Today, he wakes up slowly. His mind starts up at a snail’s pace, dragging him out of a likely-dreamless sleep. He can hardly bring himself to pry his eyes open, and when he does, his vision is much blurrier than it usually is. A sort of itch has settled in the back of his throat, one he recognizes from a time he stayed in one of his sisters’ old homes that had been filled with dust. He swallows a few times, thick saliva doing nothing to ease the itching sensation. Unsuccessful, he sighs through his nose, lip curling when the cold air rushing out only irritates the feeling further.

His neck tenses, and he slides out from under his multitude of covers, untwisting and pulling down his pale sleep-shirt from the position it had ridden up to during the night. He straightens out his sweatpants, and he yawns, jaw stretching enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to pop like it needed to. His fists clench into the fabric of his top, and his shoulders hunch. He takes a deep breath, releasing the cloth to let his hands curl in front of him. His father had once compared the motion to a dinosaur, Wakatoshi thinks, but he can’t really remember.

He sighs, hands dropping. Sluggish, he moves towards his closet, grabs his uniform out and tucks it against his torso. He blinks, then looks over at the clock that sits on his desk. It takes him a moment to register the bright red numbers printed behind the clear plastic, but when he does, a wave of exhaustion washes over his neck and down his back, dripping off of his fingers. 

_04:17._

Two hours and thirteen minutes before he usually wakes up. He just stares at the time-keeping device, eyes half-lidded. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he just. Can’t. Right now. But Wakatoshi knows that if he decides to get more sleep, he’s going to end up awaking well past the beginning of classes, because that’s how he’s always functioned. He lets out another sigh, sitting down on his bed as a stiffness settles into his limbs. His uniform remains folded in his lap, his hands resting on top of the clothing pile.

He’ll wait thirteen minutes, then he’ll get up. Maybe make breakfast. But the thought of doing that made something oily and slithering coil in his gut. He never made himself breakfast. He just ate two protein bars at 7:15, just before he started brushing his teeth, and headed off to class at a jog at 7:45. But what else could he do? He couldn’t lay back down, lest he fall asleep again, and he couldn’t go to school yet. The main building would be locked up. He also couldn’t go to practice, the gyms would also be locked. 

Wakatoshi shudders, setting his clothes beside him on his bed. He let his head drop into his hands, clenching fistfuls of hair. He stands up, walking out of his room and into the tiny kitchen in his dormitory.

He starts to pace back and forth, bare feet pressing into the cold tile. He raises himself up onto his toes, gazing down at the floor with an outwardly stoic expression. A feeling of foreboding had creeped under his skin, and he wasn’t appreciating it in the slightest.

Hopefully, the feeling wouldn’t last long.

* * *

Suffice to say, the rest of the day had progressed just like his morning, and Wakatoshi’s just about had it. He’d been late to class despite not having fallen asleep, instead zoning out after having sat down on one of his counters, broad shoulders scrunched up to avoid being painfully pressed into the bottoms of the cabinets. He’d had to dress in a hurry, leaving his shirt twisted, blazer rumpled, and tie half-done. It’d earned him a few odd looks from his classmates, since he was usually so put together.

He’d stuttered in his movements during volleyball practice, hitting the tosses from Shirabu in just the wrong way, resulting in the spikes being slammed out of bounds or his hand getting caught on the net. His form had flagged, and he’d gotten a severe scolding from Washijou-sensei. 

Now, he was wrapped in his whirlpool of blankets and a weighted comforter, face half-pressed into his pillow. Tears well up in his eyes and Wakatoshi is biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the lump in his throat. His breathing quickens, air rushing in and out through the gap in his lips. He turns his head, stuffing it into the pillow entirely. He then decides that the action only made his current situation worse, with the warmth of his exhales sinking into the pillow alongside the pressure from his face being pressed into it.

He rolls around some more, coiling himself further into his blanket wrap. It’s only mildly comforting, the feeling of being surrounded on all sides by soft, plush material. It’s something that usually always helps calm his systems, but it just isn’t working today.

The tears escape from his eyes, flowing across the bridge of his nose and into the dip where his opposite eye met the pillowcase. His eyes would be crusty when he woke up, but Wakatoshi couldn’t find it in himself to really care right now.

It would all be fine in the morning, after all.


End file.
